


Only Weakness If You Let It Make You Weak

by pirateygoodness



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: It has been a week since she has seen Dahlia, and now Dahlia is just behind her, standing so close that Cara can feel the heat of her.Spoilers for 2.20, 'Eternity'





	

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal.

It has been a week. 

A week since Cara realized how foolish she had been, following Richard Rahl to the end of the Midlands and back as though he were lord of anything. A week since she realized once more that her place will always be here, with her sisters, with the Lord Rahl who unlocked her chains and whispered to her, telling her how strong she was, how proud she made him. 

It has been a week since she has seen Dahlia, and now Dahlia is just behind her, standing so close that Cara can feel the heat of her. She knows that if she were to turn, she would be able to see Dahlia's fingers twitch, as though impatient to touch all that she has missed during Cara's absence. 

The Lord Rahl has gone, off to do with the Stone of Tears as he sees fit, and so Cara turns. She schools herself into outward calm, but she can feel eagerness blooming, low in her belly.

"Cara," Dahlia says, standing still - except her fingertips, tapping against her thigh. "You were gone for longer than I expected."

Cara straightens, making herself taller. This is Dahlia, and Cara understands what she is _really_ saying, can hear the longing and impatience between her words. All the same, she does not appreciate her abilities being called into question. "I was gone as long as I needed to be. The Stone of Tears is hardly a trivial thing to retrieve."

Dahlia tilts her head, sulking in her own way.

"These things take patience. But then, you never were good at that," Cara says, as she closes the space between them, tracing a line down the leather of Dahlia's collar - listening for the way Cara knows her breath will catch, as it always has. "Were you?"

Dahlia leans in, angling her mouth, parting her lips in an invitation. "I've been patient enough."

"I suppose," Cara says, feeling the corners of her mouth tug, the barest of smiles. 

Dahlia turns away, cheeks pink, her hair swinging out behind her as she turns and begins to walk. Cara follows. 

*

The Mord'Sith are not given quarters, not the way that someone like Kahlan would think of them; full of soft things and open space and warmth. But Dahlia is in a position of authority at this temple, and that grants her the luxury of a room to herself, larger than those of their lesser sisters. There is a door with a lock, and there is a bed and that is far more than either of them truly need. 

Dahlia shows Cara in, hips swaying. 

As the door closes, Cara steps towards her, kissing as though she has a right to it, angling her hips until she finds the right place for them, just beneath Dahlia's. In all the places behind her eyes where Kahlan was skittish and weak, Dahlia is strong and sure, and she allows Cara to take her mouth as though it is a privilege, rather than something to fear. 

The ease of it is reassuring, somehow. 

There is something about the rhythm of all of this, the pattern of wanting and then asking and then receiving, that feels right and easy and makes Cara wonder why she let herself go for so long without this, the comfort of another who is truly her equal, who understands. Dahlia clutches at Cara's back, meeting her kisses as though it is a competition, licking into Cara's mouth until the heat of arousal between her thighs is nearly too great to bear.

She tugs at the straps below Dahlia's collar, pulling her nearer still. Dahlia takes a step, then another, using her height to make Cara walk until her back is against the door. They are pressed along the length of each other, from mouth to breasts to tangled legs, but it still feels as though Dahlia is not quite close enough. Cara bites down, her teeth against Dahlia's mouth with a roughness that comes close to breaking skin, and Dahlia whimpers against her. 

When she pulls back, gasping, her eyes are dark and her mouth is kissed nearly purple. The more that Cara looks at her, the more she finds she wants her - wants this _life_ , here in the temple, back among her sisters. Dahlia smiles with her whole mouth, suddenly nothing more than a woman. "I missed you," she whispers, soft and shy, in a voice that a Mord'Sith should never use. 

Cara smiles, eyes roaming, until color begins to rise in Dahlia's cheeks. She runs her hand down Dahlia's body, from her throat to her sex, feeling the way that Dahlia grows tense with the effort of remaining still. 

Then - only then, when she has done that to Cara's satisfaction - Cara steps forward, and begins to undress her. 

Dahlia's body, her leather, is as familiar as if it were Cara's own, and they have done this for each other countless times as a matter of course, dressing and undressing to begin the day. But there are connotations, now, layers that began to develop long ago, when they became women and ceased to be girls. Now, allowing oneself to be undressed by a sister is almost unspeakably intimate, a gesture of near-complete trust. 

Cara would never admit it, but she has missed Dahlia, too.

Dahlia is hardly naked to the waist, and already she is shaking, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Cara removes her gloves, setting them next to Dahlia's things. "Dahlia," she all but growls, cupping her breasts and squeezing, nails rough against her nipples until she hisses. "I expected better from you."

"You'll have to punish me later," Dahlia says, rebellious and looking as though she would very much enjoy it.

"Hmm." Cara bends, and begins to work at the laces along Dahlia's thighs. 

When Dahlia steps out of her boots, finally naked, it is minutes later and Cara can feel the heat rolling off of her, knows that if she were to touch Dahlia where she wants to be touched, her fingers would come away slick. 

There will be time for that soon enough. 

First, she takes her time looking, drinking in the way that Dahlia stands, naked and unashamed, watching Cara with patient eyes. She knows Cara, has always known her better than anyone, and she has no reason to believe that Cara would ever resist her. There's something in Dahlia's smile, arousal and a little bit of pride, as though she is pleased with how far Cara has come in such a short time.

Cara rises to it. 

"Dahlia," is all she needs to say, in a tone dangerously close to affection. 

Dahlia shifts on her feet, eyes hopeful and knowing all at once. 

Cara nods, granting the permission Dahlia has been waiting for. She crosses the room to the bed and sits, knees hanging over the edge. Cara follows, resting one knee on the edge of the bed, level with Dahlia's hips. She nudges Dahlia's shoulder, gently, and Dahlia lies back with a smile, spreading her thighs. She is flat against the bed, wide open and vulnerable and all for Cara, willingly giving up power, trust, in a way that Cara can feel pulsing at her core. 

Cara shifts her weight, straddling Dahlia's thighs. Two of her fingers find Dahlia's center, where she is slick and ready, and Cara slides into the heat of her easily. Dahlia makes a sound, the one she always makes at the beginning, when Cara fills her for the first time. There are a hundred memories to go with that sound, and Cara finds them stirring affection in her, weakness that she does not have a place for, here at the temple.

Instead, she gives her weakness to Dahlia. 

Cara begins to move, finding a rhythm in the slow in-out slide of her fingers, curling forward until Dahlia is whimpering, asking for more. Making her strong again. Dahlia is begging, voice growing rough, but her smile is knowing as she looks up, eyes trained on Cara. They both understand that Cara remembers - knows - what Dahlia wants; she's always known exactly what Dahlia wants. She allows Dahlia to beg once, twice, and by the third time she has slipped in a third finger, then a fourth, opening Dahlia until the feeling is just enough, almost what she needs. 

Dahlia begs again, pawing at Cara's thighs. Cara's control is not absolute, and the sight of Dahlia, flushed and writhing on the bed beneath her, weakens her resolve. She never could deny Dahlia anything for long. She presses her fingers together, tucking her thumb against her palm and sliding her fingers, then her whole hand into the slickness of Dahlia's sex - gently, at first, because Dahlia has always hated it when Cara is too eager. 

Dahlia laughs at the feel of Cara within her, filling her up until she stretches, pleasure that is almost-but-not-quite pain. She flexes around Cara's hand, pulling her deeper, and they both gasp.

Slowly, gently, Cara begins to find her rhythm again, thrusting slowly, watching the way that Dahlia's eyes roll back. She is waiting for Dahlia to be ready, for the signs that she wishes for more. When Dahlia's eyes open, Cara quickens her pace, thrusting more quickly and then more roughly as Dahlia begs for it, canting her hips up into the motion of Cara's hand.

Dahlia is speaking, murmured nonsense that eventually resolves into words, Cara's name over and over again, like a mantra. The way she used to when they were younger. The way Cara taught her, whispered and secret in dark hallways, on days when training grew too difficult to bear. In this light, with Cara wrist-deep inside of her, it does not feel quite the same. 

"Say it," Dahlia says, whimpering, voice hardly a voice at all. 

"Say what?" Cara asks, smiling, even though she knows the answer. "You'll have to refresh my memory."

Dahlia's voice is a whine, now, desperate and right on the edge, exactly where Cara wants her. When she speaks next, she is far beyond begging, and it plucks at something deep inside Cara. "Cara, _say it_."

"You're mine," Cara all but growls, setting her weight further forward on the bed, moving faster. 

Dahlia makes a sound, at once a moan and a sigh of relief. Then she is breaking apart, quivering around Cara's hand until she has no more voice. 

As she rests, exhausted and sated on the bed, Cara slides her hand out as gently as she can. With every movement, Dahlia shudders, a tired smile tilting the corners of her mouth. Cara waits, rubbing at Dahlia's thighs, waiting for her to recover. She is impatient, her sex throbbing with desire, but she knows that Dahlia will attend to her, in time. 

Cara can wait.

Slowly, Dahlia grows less relaxed, her muscles tensing beneath Cara's hands even as her eyes stay shut. 

Cara knows what will come next, and it is hardly a surprise when she finds hands at her waist and the world tipping - Dahlia is flipping her onto her back, on the bed. She lands with a grunt, hard, not quite prepared for the force behind Dahlia's body as she turns them. Cara hardly has time to catch her breath before Dahlia is on her, working at her belt and unlacing her, hands quick with the help of memory. 

This is familiar, and Cara allows herself to relax into it, to enjoy the warmth of Dahlia's body and the warmth of her hands. 

They ease Cara out of her leather together, Cara wriggling and Dahlia tugging down, lips curled into something almost feral, hardly a smile at all. She tears at Cara's mouth, nails digging into Cara's breasts until she cries out, pain delivered at the edges of pleasure in exactly the right way - exactly the way Dahlia knows that Cara likes it. She has always had a talent for finding the things Cara likes best. 

Cara hears herself whimpering, eager to be touched, and she does not want to ask but she knows Dahlia will make her, knows Dahlia likes it best when she's polite. 

"Dahlia," she begins, surprised at the breathlessness of her own voice, the way she can feel her cheeks coloring. Dahlia pauses, lips still pressed to the swell of her breast, watching until Cara feels almost shy. Her voice is strong when she speaks again, but softer than before. "Please." 

Dahlia smiles, tenderness behind her eyes. It is weak, almost inexcusably so, but Cara finds herself drawn to it all the same. "Say it again," Dahlia says, her tone whisper-soft in a way that matches Cara's. 

She rubs at Cara's belly with her palms, pressing in with her nails until Cara hisses - Dahlia has found the line between pleasure and pain once more. Dahlia slides off the bed, moving to kneel between Cara's knees. 

"You're mine," Cara says, wrapping one hand around the back of Dahlia's head and tugging, near the base of her braid. 

"No," Dahlia says, teeth bared, as she leans in to lap at Cara with her tongue. "You're _mine_." 

Something in Cara's heart squeezes, but she does not have time to consider it, because Dahlia's mouth is already on her. She always has been good at this, and Cara finds herself curling her fingertips against Dahlia's scalp and allowing her to work, letting her give Cara what she needs. 

It is not long before Cara finds herself moaning, low and appreciative, hips rising off the bed. When she comes, there is very nearly a name on her lips.

Dahlia looks up at her, mouth sticky, and licks her lips. Her cheek is resting on Cara's thigh, and she watches as Cara's breathing settles, as she regains her sense of calm after release.

Cara strokes at Dahlia's head, drowsily - smoothing hair at her temples, tracing the shape of her cheekbones. 

"You're always so good to me," Cara says, without quite knowing why.

Dahlia raises her chin proudly, and crawls back onto the bed. She presses herself against Cara, warm and naked and strong along the length of her body. "Of course I am," she says, lowering her head to bite at Cara's collarbone, hard enough to make her hiss. "We take care of each other." 

There has been so much change, lately. Cara's agiels feel comfortable in her hands, but there is something different in using them for the true Lord Rahl once again, familiar and awkward all at once. If she is alone for too long, she finds herself with thoughts of Kahlan, or of Richard and Zedd, and she does not know what to do with the feeling that bubbles up in her chest, the wrongness of it. This, at least - being with Dahlia - feels as it always has, easy and thoughtless and safe. 

"We do," Cara says, and then she chuckles, low in her chest, and pulls Dahlia closer. She takes Dahlia's mouth, in part because she wishes to and in part because it is hers to take. She pulls away slowly, biting at Dahlia's lips. 

Dahlia makes a pleased sound, deep in her throat, as Cara speaks again. "We take care of each other."


End file.
